


Busking

by The_Whistler



Series: Colonel Walter and His Steam Man Band [3]
Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Gen, The Steam Man Band
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Whistler/pseuds/The_Whistler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colonel Walter brings his robots back from the Three-Day Weekend War, his fortune largely depleted, and has to face some hard and ugly truths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Busking

"Wait here, boys. I'll go and make the travel arrangements."

A chorus of, "Yes, Pappy," followed Colonel Walter as got into the line at the railroad ticket window to purchase the least expensive train tickets he could buy. The various crates containing the remains of his robot army had already been loaded into the baggage compartment, and Delilah, the huge robotic giraffe, alone had required the rental of an additional car. The cost had been staggering. The Walter fortune had always been more than enough to support Peter and his work. Yet he despaired having even enough for a cup of coffee by the time they'd arrived home.

At least he'd managed, on the passage from Africa, to get the four most human-like of the robots into reasonably good shape, and outfitted them with simple men's clothing. He'd even fastened a non-functional jaw onto Rabbit for appearances only; he'd craft a functional one at home. If he had enough left-over copper... if not, he'd find something. For now, the false jaw, along with the clothes and hat, were enough to make Rabbit look less horrifying. People stared as they bustled past, but no one had screamed so far.

The line shuffled forward in the sticky Savannah sunshine. Colonel Walter turned and looked at his robotic sons. They looked around at the passing people, who alternately stared at and avoided them as they bustled past.

So far, so good. He leaned around an peered at the ticket counter impatiently. A very little, very old lady was counting out coins.

Of course. He straightened once more and let his thoughts drift. He'd _had_ to go to Africa. He knew that. Becile had been stopped, the mines saved. But his arrival home would bring him face-to-face with the problems he'd left behind him.

Problem number one: money. It was a new problem, really, one he meant to face up to. He would sell what he had to sell... with the exception of his automatons. He would let staff go... with the exception of Iris.

That had been a blunder. He'd done his best to work himself to death, after the loss of his beloved Deliliah, namesake of his giraffe. One night, Rabbit had found him in his lab, exhausted. He'd fetched Iris, the housemaid, who, with the help of the robots, had taken him up to bed. The robots had left him there for the night. Iris hadn't.

And now he was going to be a father. Another mouth to feed. Two, counting Iris... he meant to make an honest woman of her. She had one thing Delilah had never had, as far as he'd been able to tell. The one thing Delilah had been careful not to mention.

Iris loved Peter Walter. She had tried to comfort him because of it. She had given more than he knew he deserved in the process. She now carried his child because of it. He felt a strange warmth steal over him at the thought. Sometimes you make choices, sometimes choices make you...

The old lady moved on. Just two more ahead. The robots stood, clustered together, all looking the same direction, like a flock of little birds.

Problem number two: Well, that was Iris... a problem mingled with a solution, he'd decided. Not really a problem at all, outside of the baby. He was still getting used to that part.

The next customer had already moved on. The robots were still staring to their left. He craned his neck but couldn't see what had caught their interest. The line stopped once more.

His mind drifted to problem number three: The Steam Man Band. Colonel Walter had suffered many shocks in the past year. One of them had been rather obvious, he'd realized looking backward.

You can program a machine to make music, but that doesn't make it a musician.

Each of the three automatons intended to perform music had been programmed with the fundamentals of musical theory. Rabbit was the only one he'd had time to program with songs, so far, so he would sometimes sing. The Spine knew how sound could be created on stringed instruments and was drawn to them. The Jon... well, he had only the musical theory. He liked to dance, and to warble tuneless nonsense doggerel, and was just happy to dance to that as to his brothers' music... which was...

Frankly... terrible. Rabbit sang like... well, like a machine! An organ, a concertina, a calliope; the notes precise and clear... and the emotion nonexistent without a human performer. A music box could play beautiful music, but it didn't have emotions. Rabbit, he'd discovered, had rudimentary emotions, and all the subtlety of a toy piano. He sang flat. Very flat.

And The Spine's guitar playing was... somewhat worse.

Walter had had some idea of gaining a little income with musical performances by his robot band. But as it was, they'd draw crowds, yes, but they'd be freaks to be gawked at instead of wondrous creations to be admired. He just couldn't do it.

He stepped up to the counter at last, after one last glance at the robots. The Jon was trying to walk away and The Spine had him by the suspenders. Walter made his purchase as quickly as possible.

He turned, tickets in hand, to find the robots gone.

His instant feeling of alarm vanished when he realized they'd only moved a short distance away... easily seen, as they had taken their gap in the crowd with them. The four of them stood staring, with their inscrutable robotic faces, at a man playing a banjo and singing "The Little Lost Child"* on the steps of the station. It front of him was a tin cup, and a sign propped against his legs read, "Blind. Please help."

But far from being a humble beggar, the man gave much in return, singing sweetly and playing with skilled fingers. Walter supposed that robots, with their advanced musical programming, had been naturally drawn toward him.

The song ended and Rabbit, The Spine, and The Jon applauded vigorously. Hatchworth glanced at his brothers in apparent confusion before clunking his hands together as well. Walter pushed through the crowd into the open space, and tossed a couple of coins into the hat.

The man tipped his hat in the direction of the tin cup.

"Come along, boys. The train leaves in half an hour," said Walter, leading them away throught the crowd amid murmurs.

"Did he just call them boys?"

"Oh, Eb, whatever could they be?"

"Papa! Look at the big silver man!"

The Spine looked, surprised, toward the child, who slipped behind her father's legs hastily. Walter smiled.

"Have no fear, dear. They're machines. They... They're not programmed to bite."

He chuckled at his own joke. Everyone else, including the robots, stared at him.

"What's 'programmed' mean, Papa?"

"Come along, Liza," the man said, hurrying her away.

Walter sighed and continued to the train. He thought it was funny, anyway.

They settled into their seats awkwardly. The Spine's legs barely fit between the rows of facing seats. But they had plenty of available space; the other passengers clustered at the far end of the car, casting uncomfortable and suspicious looks their way. The Spine sat beside Rabbit in the row behind Walter, The Jon, and Hatchworth, so as to fit better. The Jon got up on his knees and peered over the seat at them. The passengers glared so that he slipped back down and curled up by the window.

"Don't mind them, boys. They just aren't used to robots..."

"We know, Pappy," said The Spine from the next row, stumbling over the name as he always did. Walter knew The Spine preferred "father" but suspected he went along because his older brother liked saying "Pappy" better. Rabbit, typical of older brothers, never knew how much influence he had over the younger ones. He just took their compliance to mean that he was always right.

Walter looked out the window as the train shuddered into motion, then backward, picking up Deliliah's car before trundling off down the tracks in the general direction of San Diego. It was going to be a long trip... and feel longer if Rabbit sang.

What could he do for them? He wouldn't live forever, but they could... or a very long time, at least. But how would they live? Even they needed parts, clean water and repairs, in order to continue existing.

As the train moved out of the city, he was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of singing. He recognized the voice.

"Oh, dear..." he breathed. Rabbit knew his primary function, and loved it. Walter cringed automatically at the sound of the copper robot's voice.

"A passing policeman found a little child..."

Walter's eyes grew wide.

"She walked beside him, dried her tears and smiled."

He wasn't singing in the flat, mechanical tones he usually used. He was singing very much like the old blind musician back in Savannah, mimicking his singing. All the feeling he had heard in the man's performance flowed from the finely tuned vocal assembly, the angelic voice Walter had so carefully crafted for his eldest creation.

The Spine hummed along. Jon got up and danced, even though it really wasn't a dancing song. Hatchy clunked his hands together in perfect time.

When Rabbit had sung the last note, holding it for just for a moment before letting it go, there was a startling sound.

Applause.

The people at the far end of the car were smiling now. The Jon stopped dancing, and all the robots looked back in wonder as a little boy waved and asked for more. Jon tipped his hat.

"Oh..." began Colonel Walter, still recovering from his own shock. He stood and said, "I'm afraid we haven't had time to learn any other songs..."

"Sure we have, Pappy!" Rabbit began brightly. Walter fixed him with a sharp stare and said, through clenched teeth, "No, we haven't, Rabbit."

"But..."

The Spine clapped his hand over Rabbit's mouth. Walter had the feeling that The Spine, at least, realized they had a lot to learn.

And they _could_ learn! This was his answer. Even a born musician still has to learn music. A programmed musician would be just the same... He had given his sons the gift of a natural talent for music. Now he had to find someone who knew how to teach them how to develop that talent.

But meanwhile, the little boy had asked Rabbit to sing the first song over again. The Spine removed his hand, and when Rabbit began, he sang along with his brother, their voices almost exactly the same... the differences subtle and fascinating. Rabbit's was... it seemed ridiculous as a comparison, but it seemed to him that Rabbit's voice was like honey, and The Spine's like molten chocolate.

Food analogies? Of course, it had been ages since breakfast.

Walter sat back down as the people moved closer, and resolved to get lunch at the next stop. And when they arrived in San Diego, his search for music teachers would begin.

**Author's Note:**

> *can be heard here. Apologies, it's got the strange and sexist themes of its day. But it's the sort of thing a guy would sing to get cash from passersby back in the day, I think... something sappy and fairly stupid!
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KTCBtMPvuKQ
> 
> Not quite the way an old Southern man with a banjo would sing it, or Rabbit and the others... use your imagination! Rabbit could sing it awfully prettily...
> 
> And back before the sweet harmonies, the Bennetts used to sing just like this... They have a video on their Engineer-eteer site of them singing "Moanin' for You" together. Just together.


End file.
